Blood and Tears
by CloJo14
Summary: "Watching the blood drip from my arm is my relief." OC self-harms, Sam discovers her secret. One-shot, trigger warning, rated M for graphic self harm.


The motel is practically silent as I slip out of bed. The only noises are the hum of the air conditioner and the steady rise and fall of Sam's breathing in the bed parallel to mine, and the faint smell of ash still lingers in the air. I tread lightly, so as not to wake him, and pull the bathroom door behind me as tightly as possible without it clicking loudly into place. I'm left alone with only my reflection in the smudged mirror above the sink, illuminated by the dim glow of the wall lamp. I stare at the blank face looking back at me for as long as I can possibly bear before turning away in disgust, and my eyes fall on the blue toiletry bag perched on top of the toilet. With a soft sigh, I sit on the off white corner of the bathtub, my bare toes digging into the textured purple bath mat, and pull the pouch to my chest. There's only one thing I want from that bag. I sift through the jumble of tampons, hair ties, and my toothbrush until I find what I'm looking for. I feel the familiar rush of fear and anticipation mixed with the self hatred as I pull up my sleeve, exposing the blank canvas of my wrist. The twisted benefits of being a hunter include access to an exquisitely sharp blade. _You screwed up the hunt today_. I rest the blade in the middle of my wrist, not yet putting pressure on it. _You screw up everything_. Slowly, I press down, watching the coloration of my skin shift from pink to pale with the pressure. _Sam and Dean don't want you here_. In one quick movement, I slash the blade across my wrist, leaving behind the beginnings of a thin scarlet ribbon. _Nobody wants you here_. I repeat the swiping motion, resulting in an identical mark. Here, I pause, watching the fresh blood trickle from the cuts onto my bare leg. I find the slightest bit of relief in feeling the sting of my ragged breaths against the open wounds, my eyes watering as I focus solely on the pain. I deserve this. I stare at the blood, _my_ blood, and I know it. I _know_ I deserve this. There's a sound in front of me, and a flash of movement, and then Sam is standing in the doorway, shock plastered across his face. We stare at each other for a moment, and I know that I can't hide. There's nothing I can do to remedy this. I silently curse the unwelcome tears welling up in in my eyes as my vision blurs. "I'm sorry," I whisper, staring down at my wrists, the shame spreading through my body faster than the blood is dripping from my cuts. _He knows now. He knows that you're a freak._ _A selfish freak who can't control herself and I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you_— I'm startled by the strangled choking noise that Sam makes, and I realize with the force of a punch in the gut that tears have spilled over onto his cheeks as he watches me flounder in my own mess of blood and tears. "Why?" He asks, wiping the back of his hand against the dampness of his cheek. I don't know how to answer. I can't say it out loud. I can't. I settle for part of it. "My fault," I choke out, another tear slipping down my cheek. I'm afraid to move my hands and wipe my face in case it would send a wave of blood down my arm, so I let my tears flow freely. "The h-hunt."

Sam doesn't wait for more. He steps forward and kneels in front of me, wrapping me tightly in a hug. "No, it wasn't," he whispers, his face pressed into my hair. He draws a shuddering breath, gripping me even harder. "It wasn't your fault. P-please. Promise me you won't do this again. I can't— I can't see you hurt." I can't help the sobs that rip through my body as I cry into his shoulder. I hold onto Sam like he's my lifeline, failing to register that my blood is dripping down his bare back as I shudder against him. His hand caresses my back, my hair, my neck, anywhere he can reach to comfort me and I all but physically melt into his touch. Eventually, his soothing hands calm me down enough to staunch the tears. He lets go of me only to reach up to the medicine cabinet and pull out the first aid kit, and he wets a washcloth under the tap. He works meticulously, cleaning off the wounds with extreme care, however, I wince and let out a hiss as he puts too much pressure into the stroke of the washcloth. "Sorry," he says quickly, his eyes wide with worry, but returns to his task with even more care as soon as I give the word. Soon, all that remain are the two thin, clean lines decorating my deathly pale wrist. Sam pauses and looks into my eyes before bowing his head and leaning to kiss each cut. "I want you to know," he says, slowly caressing the sides of my wrist, "I love you. I love you so much, and I don't care about what happens on a hunt. That doesn't measure your self-worth, ever." He reaches up and strokes the side of my face, and I've never seen eyes so pure and loving before. "You're beautiful," he continues, "On the inside and out, and it kills me that you don't see that. It kills me that you feel like this." He finishes disinfecting the cuts, then finally puts a bandage on each one. I stare down at my covered wrist, then back up at him. "Sam?" He nods, gazing earnestly into my eyes. "I love you." It's an enormous relief to finally say it, more than any satisfaction I'd gotten from cutting. The corners of his mouth turn upwards, and he leans in ever so slightly. I lean forward and our lips meet, as do our hands and arms and bodies, and I know that this is _right_. The kiss is sweet and meaningful, but somehow we both understand that now is not the time for more. We slowly break apart sharing the same deep gaze. Sam says nothing as he picks me up like I weigh 10 pounds and carries me out of the bathroom. He lays me down gently in his bed, tucking me under the covers, before climbing in behind me. He wraps his long arms around me, tucking my head under his chin, and letting out a long sigh. "I love you." He says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"I love you too."

I didn't promise him I wouldn't do it again. I can't make that promise. What I feel now, in this moment, isn't how I'm going to feel all the time. The despair is going to creep back in eventually. But what I'm positive about is that, lying here with Sam, feeling loved..._this_ is relief.


End file.
